Eyes Like The Sea
by xXFighterNotALoverXx
Summary: "Seemingly I only needed one Peacekeeper, because it was easy to keep ol' Mags in check, right? Magdalene Cohen was no threat, right? She was just some blonde weakling from the fish district with no mama to teach her manners, a papa who didn't love her, and she was not threat at all, right? 'Watch out, Capitol.' I whispered under my breath. 'I'm tougher than I look.'"
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

"_And District Four's female tribute is… Millicent Cohen." _

_ No._

_Millie's big blue eyes were wide as she made her way through the crowd and up to the stage. A girl started crying. One of her friends cussed under her breath. Millie's friends were always cussing – either she had taught them, or they had taught her. _

"_Oh, we have a pretty one this year!" I heard a Peacekeeper whisper not-so-quietly to his friend, who grunted in reply. Everyone thought Millie was pretty. Her black curls were long and shiny, her pink lips were full, and she was tan and muscular from being out on the sea days at a time. But her greatest asset was her eyes. Huge, surrounded by long, midnight lashes, and very, very blue, "like the sky", as Drell, her boyfriend, liked to say. Millie and I both had blue eyes, but her were like the sky and mine were supposedly like the sea – "blue, but with something more", as Father had said. _

"_WAIT!" I heard a voice, and then I realized that it was my voice. "I volunteer as tribute!" _

_But they were already walking off the stage with Millie, already dragging her away. "No! Mags! No!" she called, but her cries faded, along with the crowd, and I was left crying, and crying and crying and crying... _

"MAGDALENE HESTER COHEN!" Father shouted. "For the last time. It's Reaping Day. _Get up!_"

I clutched my roughly woven bed sheets and wiped my eyes with them. I had nightmares like this every time Reaping Day came around. Either Millie would get chosen, or I would, or sometimes friends from school, cousins… and I was never able to save them. A couple years ago a friend from school _had _gotten chosen – Sylvie Hess, the mayor's daughter. She hadn't survived the bloodbath. The tribute from District Twelve ran a dagger through her mouth and the rest of her head. No one had expected her to survive, though. Sylvie had never been the toughest. Plus, she'd had Durina as a mentor, and Durina was… well, nobody really knew how Durina had survived. I'd always assumed she'd just waited everyone out.

I stood up from bed, forcing myself not to wince from the cold ocean air sinking into my skin. The breeze made the lacy curtains at the window flutter, and I hurriedly threw on my best dress to combat the low temperature.

The dress was pale indigo, and snug-fitting at the top and waist, falling in waves to my knees. The sleeves were lace, and went to just below my bony elbows, and the collar was lacy too, the lace starting low and going to my neck.

I looked in the mirror above my sink. Same Mags. Straight, ash-blonde hair that goes to my mid-back. Big, blue-gray eyes. Slight overbite, skinny, not-curvy-enough-to-be-sixteen. Tiny hands. Tiny feet. Tan. Muscled.

I bound downstairs, stopping to put on my sandals, and then run to the beach. Father's boat is just coming in, and I see that he and Millie are already dressed in their reaping clothes, Millie in a long, fitted red dress and Father in his good jacket and tie.

I helped them take in the catch and Millie braided my hair to make a crown on top of my head – which Mother would've done, if she hadn't died giving birth to me.

Millie looks so much like Mother that I can tell it breaks Father's heart to look at her. But, although I have Father's skinny body and blonde hair, I have Mother's eyes. Father never looks me in the eye.

Finally, it was time for Reaping Day. It was the last year Millie would be entered. I was sixteen, so I had two more years. I remember the first Hunger Games. It was when I was five years old – this one was the eleventh. The tributes from District Four were Clary and Donnell. Donnell was a weakling. He died in the bloodbath. Clary was with the Careers, until there were only five left and her blonde teammate pushed her off a cliff. The blonde girl won. She was from District One. Surprise, surprise. Her name was Ruby Wynne. A few years later, she mysteriously died.

Father sat Millie down before we left, and gave her the talk about what to do if she got pulled. "Remember," I heard him saying to her, "they're not other human beings. They're pawns. And they're gonna kill you."

Every year Millie got the same talk. This was the last year she'd ever get the talk again. I felt a small sense of relief steal over me, numbing the stinging feeling I got whenever Father gave her a talk like that, because I never got talks like that. It was my fault that Mother died. Father didn't hate me, or blame me for it, but I knew that he'd never truly be as proud of me or love me as much as he did Millie.

I stood with the other sixteen-year-olds at the ceremony, and soon was found by my friend Henna. Her long red hair was in braids coiled on the sides of her head, and she wore kohl around her friendly brown eyes. Henna was always the pretty one. "Mags!" she greeted me. "Happy Reaping Day!"

I smiled back at her. I've never been one to talk much; everyone knew that. When I did talk it was quietly, and quickly. I just didn't have much to say. I preferred to keep things to myself. I didn't mind the occasional conversation, I just wasn't a social butterfly.

"Are you nervous?" Henna asked. "Who do you think they'll reap this year?"

_My sister_, I almost say, and then, "I don't know. I'm not nervous, particularly. No more than usual."

Henna smiled, showing glowing white teeth. "I suppose you're right. I'm about to _die _of fear, though. What if they reap Mikey?"

Mikey Odair was probably the most beautiful boy anyone in our District had ever seen. He was golden-skinned, bronze-haired, tall, and muscular, with the most amazing sea-green eyes. He and Henna had been together for two weeks now – a long time for both of them. Henna was so in love with him it was ridiculous, and he loved her back – you could tell. They were an adorable couple.

"He won't," I reassured her. _And even if he did, he'd charm his way out of it, you know he would. _

She smiled at me again, and I smiled back, quieting down because the ceremony was starting.

And Orion Winterworth was wearing a tutu.

Orion Winterworth, or just plain Orion, always has been and always will be the District Four escort. He was big on the androgynous beauty thing, and so sometimes he'd come to the Reapings in the weirdest getups – stockings, lacy shirts; once he came in a wimple and black habit. But now, he was wearing a tutu.

His tutu was a splendid tutu – red and blue with little stars and glitter sprinkled throughout. He wore fishnet stockings underneath, and a large, lemon-yellow robe that looked like it may or may not be from a bath company. He wore red stiletto heels, red lipstick, bright blue eyeshadow, and his sparse brown hair stuck out from underneath a curly blonde beehive wig. His tattoos on his cheekbones were inlaid with gold this year, as opposed to last year (bronze) and the year before (copper). "Welcome to the Eleventh Hunger Games," he announced in a reedy voice. "And," he drawled, "may the odds be ever in your favor. Now, ladies first." He picked a slip of paper from the ball. I held my breath. "This year's female tribute is… Millie Cohen."

_What?_

"Wait!" I heard myself shout. "I volunteer as tribute!"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Welcome, welcome, welcome to Chapter Two, and may the odds be ever in your favor. Well, you've survived the first chapter. Congratulations. The first chapter really sucked, so hopefully this one is better. I haven't figured out how to edit my documents yet, so if someone could tell me that would be great, and meanwhile the sucky unedited first chapter will be on display until further notice.

**ANNOUNCEMENT**: I AM LOOKING FOR AN EDITOR. I need someone with Google Docs, Google Drive, email, or some combination of the above. Also, if you are an editor you will get a mention in my profile and a follow from me. I wouldn't mind two or even three editors, and I'll need my editors to be free to edit at least every other day.

I AM ALSO LOOKING FOR A COAUTHOR, not on this story but to write another story for one of the fandoms on my profile. You get all the privileges listed above under the editorial announcement.

**ATTENTION** – I don't own the Hunger Games (yet, mwahaha) or any of the characters. They belong to Suzanne Collins, and I am not making any dough off this story (unfortunately).

**P.S**. I have no reviews yet, so if you could even drop a simple "Nice!" or "That sucks!" it'd make my day. I would also love a more detailed review, if you get a chance – point out pros and cons, character faults and good-stuffs ( I can't remember the name :P) and generally give me a heads-up on what I'm doing well and what I'm fucking up on.

**P. P. S.** Drop me a message! I follow back and I'd love to be your friends.

Now, **Chapter Two.**

Chapter Two

"Well, well, well," Orion said, adding to his annoyingness of saying things in trios, "It looks like we have a volunteer! Come up, dear, come right on up."

Millie hadn't even gotten up to go to the stage that she'd never set foot on yet. She just stood there with her friends, her plump lips in a perfect O.

An attractive male Peacekeeper led me to the stage. Seemingly I only needed one Peacekeeper, because it was easy to keep ol' Mags in check, right? Magdalene Cohen was no threat, right? She was just some blonde weakling from the fish district with no mama to teach her manners, a papa who didn't love her, and she was not threat at all, right? "Watch out, Capitol." I whispered under my breath. "I'm tougher than I look." The Peacekeeper gave me an odd glance, and I shut up, because he was hot, and I valued my life.

Suddenly, I didn't know why, but a wave of fury rolled over me. This wasn't _right_. I'd stayed in the crowd ever since I was twelve, clutching the ropes and hoping that I wouldn't get chosen. Every single wide-eyed kid, every grinning Career, every single fucking tribute that had gone up there – I'd looked at them and uttered a silent thank you to whomever was watching over me that I wasn't the one up there who looked like they were about to keel over, and it wasn't fucking fair!

I found myself up on the stage, and I quelled my fury, knowing that there was nothing at the moment that I could do. By now, Millie was in a puddle of tears, surrounded by friends who were either attempting to comfort her or sobbing themselves. Yeah, like they cared. I wanted to punch someone. I didn't know why. I guess I was just tired of being quiet. This wasn't right, it really wasn't.

"Well, we have a pretty one this year!" Orion beamed at me in what seemed to be an attempt at friendliness. I squirmed. Nobody had ever called me pretty before, besides a few friends and the long-forgotten sweetheart of kindergarten, who used to bring me squished butterflies as a token of his admiration.

When Orion realized that I actually didn't want to reply, he raised his eyebrows like, _what the fuck ever, bish_, and reached into the glass ball that held the boys' names. He picked up a piece of paper, looked at it, and did the most interesting eyebrow exercise that I'd ever seen. He tried to put it back in, but a Peacekeeper whispered something in his ear, and he resignedly un-crumpled the paper and made ready to read the name, coming to the front of the stage.

"This year's male tribute is-" I saw the name on the paper before he read it, and my nails dug into my palms, because I knew I'd never be able to kill him, and I knew he'd kill me on sight just to stay alive " – Dante Vesuvius."

Dante Vesuvius was Old Drunk Sinbad's son. He wore leather jackets and ripped blue jeans and big black boots and skipped class and sniffed funny things and had a tattoo of a mermaid on his left bicep. He claimed that the mermaid was his mother and the ocean was his daddy and everyone was scared of him. He slept in haystacks and bars and he had short, spiky black hair and slanted gray eyes and was tan and muscular from helping people out on their trawlers so that they'd give him a bit of their fish to eat or a loaf of bread. Dante was wild and rough and I wasn't surprised that Orion didn't want him – he'd never cooperate with the Capitol.

Dante, who hadn't dressed up in any way, still in a pair of ripped black jeans, motorcycle boots, and a jean jacket, went surprisingly meekly up to the stage. He was escorted by a mass of Peacekeepers, probably because he looked like he'd beat the shit out of anyone in a heartbeat, which most people probably thought he would. I knew better, though. I'd seen him one time, when I was late walking home from Henna's house, and he thought nobody was watching. There was a kitten on the ground, and he sat down next to it and started petting it, talking in baby talk and rubbing his nose against it's. It would've been funny if it hadn't been so unnerving.

The next hour was a blur of Orion patting me and Dante on the back, telling us he thought we'd be "Great Assets" for our District, and assuring us that "This was The Year" that someone from our District would finally win. Strangely, he was looking at me, not Dante. You'd expect a tall, musclebound bad boy in black to be more imposing than some stick-figure indigo-clad sixteen-year-old motherless quiet girl to be. Dante was a year older than me.

Orion decided that Dante's mentor was to be Hector "Heck" Whitlock, the most round-bellied, intimidating drunkard I'd ever met, and mine was Durina's sister – Tess Atkinson. The Mentors for our District were volunteers from our District, because nobody in our District had ever won before. The only victors so far had been from Eleven, Eight, One, Two, Three, Six, Five, Seven, Seven and Two both having won twice.

We were finally parked in our separate rooms and I sat down on the couch, sighing, because I knew that if I had to win this, I'd have to kill Dante, and he seemed like a person worth preserving. _No, Mags, _I told myself. _If you think like that, you'll die. They're all pawns, anyway, all pawns in the Capitol's game. _I wasn't sure I'd be able to win this, but I had to try, at least for Millie's sake. Hell, if I died, she wouldn't have a little sister to torment, would she?

I wasn't quite positive why I wanted to win, or why I was so determined I was going to, but staying alive seemed like a good thing, and good things were, well, good.

Just then, Father and Millie swept in the door, disrupting my train of thought and triggering a slight lump form in my throat. I realized that I hadn't even absorbed my lush, gold-encrusted surroundings, I'd been so deep in musing.

"MAGS!" Millie shouted and burst into tears again, collapsing in my arms. I hugged her awkwardly. I knew she was glad someone had volunteered for her, because she'd never be able to win, and although it was her own sister who'd volunteered, she was still sending me off, because she loved me but not enough. Millie always got her way. Perhaps it had to do with her resemblance to Mother.

Father lagged awkwardly behind Millie, patting me on the back. Hell, this whole thing reeked of awkwardness. After a few minutes of Father telling me he was proud to have me as a daughter and Millie hugging me tightly and telling me she'd always love me, Henna and my other school friends came in, and the assistant outside the door ushered them out. Father pecked me on the cheek as he left, and there was pride and sorrow in his eyes, and I vowed to myself that I'd make him look twice as proud when I came back alive with money and honor for him and Millie.

Henna hugged me tightly, and the other two friends who'd came with, Drini and Lisel, stood behind her, hugging me as Henna stepped back. I didn't have the heart to tell them that I'd always hated hugs. Henna was sobbing by the time she left, Lisel close to it, and Drini clenching and unclenching her big fists. Drini had always been big. She had to be, she had four older brothers and two younger ones. District Four was known for its big families.

I swallowed in surprise as the next person to come in was Tate Abernathy, whose father had ran off to work in District Twelve and whose Mother was the most gossipy busybody in the world. In first grade, I'd had an awful crush on Tate, who was undeniably cute, with big green eyes, blonde side bangs that covered one of them, and whip-thin, muscular physique. Now he was in my class, and I suspected he was harboring an inkling of romantic angst towards me, romantic, yes, but still full of angst, because I was always with Lisel or Drini whenever he tried to talk to me.

"Um, hi," was his salutations as he walked inside. He was wearing his Reaping Day clothes – a gray button-down shirt, a green tie that matched his eyes, and black dress pants. His hands were jammed in the pockets of said pants, and aforementioned eyes were studying his black dress shoes carefully.

"Hey," I replied, having no other words to say, and he sat down uninvited on the couch, uncomfortably close to me.

He smelled like cinnamon.

"What's up?" I asked, yet again for lack of a better phrasing.

His green eyes that my first-grade self had so admired were wide with awkwardness. "I just wanted to say goodbye, y'know, in case, well, I mean… you aren't coming back, are you, Mags?"

"No." I said, and I didn't mean I wasn't winning. I meant I was never coming back to District Four to live here with my family. I was meant for bigger, better things. At least, I believed so. And even if I wasn't, I wasn't gonna come back here anyway. The world had better watch out, because Magdalene Hester Cohen was coming out of her shell.

Seemingly, Tate thought that I meant what I'd purposely implied – that I wasn't going to win the games, and his lower lip trembled slightly. "Well, I guess this is goodbye, then." Tate said softly. "Safe travels, girl with eyes like the sea." 'Safe travels' was a customary term in our District. People used it to send off fishermen, people hunting new lives in different villages, and apparently Hunger Games tributes. Tate stood up, pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, and then hurried out.

I sat there, dumbfounded. I couldn't even decide whether I'd liked the kiss or not. I knew I probably wouldn't be seeing Tate again, so I decided that it was a friendly, caring gesture, as opposed to romantic, and then composed myself and sat ramrod-straight for the next few minutes until Tessa came to pick me up and take me to the train.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Tessa Atkinson was a short, wiry woman with big black eyes, cocoa-colored skin, and masses of wavy black hair that were kept in a million little braids. She looked far more intimidating than she actually was, probably because she was one of those people who seemed to be obsessed with fitness and therefore terrifying. She wore stretchy black pants, a lacy white blouse, and tall brown boots that had silver buckles. She smelled distinctly like peppermint.

"Call me Tess, sugar," she told me once we reached the train. I nodded in acknowledgement, because she seemingly was waiting for something, and then my mouth dropped, because of how lavishly the train was decorated.

The inside of the train was huge, at least the car we were in– bigger than my ex-cottage in District Four. The theme seemed to be a sort of nautical thing, but far fancier than any ocean I'd seen before. There were glimmering golden nets draped across the ceiling, a deep blue carpet on the floor, pictures of fish, mermaids, and maps framed in precious metals and set on the walls, and this was just the _hallway_?

Tess brought me to my room, which was surprisingly toned down from the hallways. It had a bed underneath a window in the middle of the wall. The bed was covered in red velvet and the curtains were lacy. Outside the window you could see the world rolling by. It was pleasant, actually, the rocking motion, because it felt like being at sea. There was a picture of waves on the wall across from the bed, a wardrobe of marvelous clothes, and a big bathroom with a claw-foot bathtub, a shower with tons of different soaps and shampoos, and a nightstand with a big blue lamp on it.

I sat down on the bed, exhausted. Tess smiled at me. I decided I liked her. "Now, dear," she said, "You just get washed up and meet me, Dante, and Heck in the dining hall. I'll send an Avox for you." Before I could tell her that I was terrified of Avoxes, she swept out of the room in a blur of braids and peppermint.

I went to the closet and sighed. What to wear, what to wear? I'd never had this problem before, because I'd only had about three outfits back in Four. After much indecision, I settled on a pair of black leggings like Tess, tall black boots with folded over suede tops and athletic-shoe type soles, and a fitted, short-sleeved black v-neck. I picked out a leather jacket, too. Then I looked in the mirror. My hair was still in its crown braid, and after a moment, I realized that crown braids didn't really go with black, so I took a deep breath and let my hair down after brushing out the curls. I looked different. I looked dangerous. I looked bitchin.

I wasn't a little girl anymore – black leggings and tall boots can make you realize that – so I looked in the cabinets of the bathroom and found an eyeliner pencil. I went around my eyes with a thin black line. Then I spritzed on a bit of perfume, brushed my teeth, took a sip of water from the glass by my bedside, and opened the door for the Avox.

The Avox was a redheaded girl of about sixteen – my own age. I followed her down the hall, far too distracted by my cosmetic forays than to get the usual shivers that Avoxes gave me. It was funny – with the right clothes and a little bit of makeup, I could almost be considered pretty. Almost.

The dining room was yet another golden-fishnetted affair, and I sat down at the table next to Tess, who seemed to be flirting with Heck and telling him how to mentor Dante at the same time. "Hey," I said, sliding into the ornate-backed chair. Tess looked at me and did a double take. "Mags! Did you put on makeup? You look great!"

"Thanks." I blushed, stealing a glance at Dante. He actually wasn't too unattractive, and if I wasn't trying to survive, I'd probably be crushing on him terribly, but I didn't have time for that. "So what are we doing today?"

"Well," Heck said, even though I was cuh-lear-lay asking Tess, "We were going to talk about strategy, and maybe do a bit of training."

That sounded terribly boring, but Father always told Millie and me to be polite, so I said, "Sounds fun." Because it must have been fun for some people, right?

"So, shall we get started?" Dante asked. He had a very rough voice, like he'd smoked a pack of cigarettes, which he probably had.

"Alright," Tess said. "So, first, let's talk about personal strategies. Dante, what's your strategy?"

Dante flashed a brilliant grin, and I blushed again, I wasn't sure why. He was very handsome, yes, but I wasn't falling for him. I couldn't fall for him. I had a Hunger Games to win. _Mags Cohen, winner of the thirteenth Hunger Games… _"My strategy is convince everyone I'm tough and don't care, even though I'm not all that tough."

Tess raised her eyebrows. "And why did you choose that strategy?"

Dante shrugged his broad shoulders. "It works in real life; it should work in the Games." I felt a pang of pity for him. Pretending not to care was always hard for me too, but sometimes, if you pretended well enough, you could convince yourself.

"And Mags, we know your strategy already, of course," Tess said.

"We do?" I asked. I honestly hadn't thought of a strategy other than "Stay alive."

"Well, of course!" Heck exclaimed, surprised about something. "Pretend you're just an innocent little girl, when really you're deadly."

Wait… that actually didn't sound so bad. If I could convince people that I was actually deadly and pretending to be innocent and weak as opposed to really being weak, I could intimidate them without actually having to do anything and have alliances with all the strongest Careers and usual winners.

I smiled. "Well, you got me."

Tess laughed. "It's such a good idea, though! We'll have to work on your façade, a bit, because we were all able to guess that you're more than you seem. We can do that tomorrow. Meanwhile, let's have dinner." She gestured to one of the Avoxes, who went into the kitchen. A moment later, a spread was brought to our table.

It was honestly the most food I'd ever seen in my life. It was all a pescetarian sort of thing, too, with a million different types of fish that I could name each one of, and all sorts of little sea—weed wrapped rice balls with fish inside them. Tess called them "sushi". It was a funny word. The only non—fish related thing, besides some fruit, was a huge tureen of lamb stew. I ate until I could burst, and then a little more. Finally, I tottered off to my bedroom with a full stomach and aching jaw from eating so much. Tess kissed me goodnight on the cheek. "Goodnight, sugar, and may the odds be ever in your favor." The way she said it didn't sound like she was sending me to fight to the death, though. It sounded like she was sending me to fight for the life.

**A/N: **Hey y'all, I've gotten some really nice comments and reviews on this story, so I wanted to thank all of you for your support . I am still needing an **EDITOR**, or Beta reader, so if you know of any good ones, let me know. Thanks, and love y'all, cupcakes.

_**xXFighterNotALoverXx **_

_**p.s. **__I found out how to edit my documents. Finally. _


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